Verba Potentia
by and if I dream
Summary: "'We'll know he would've always wanted to come back,' she said, voice filling the cool night air. 'Always.'" Series of canonical oneshots using quotes for prompts.
1. Chapter 1

I felt a need to write Harry Potter oneshots, and not all about the main characters either. These are based on famous series quotes. Thanks to Tumblr for some prompts and thanks to JKR for the beauty that is this series. These quotes may be taken in a different direction than the gravity of their language in and of themselves.

* * *

"Indifference and neglect often do much more damage than outright dislike"

* * *

"Albus? Who gets named Albus?" the Muggle boy sneered. Albus Severus Potter merely stayed on his swing, rocking back and forth aimlessly. He didn't mind the Muggle boy's blatant dislike. No, not at all. He'd rather be sneered at than ignored.

"Gonna say anythin', Albie?" another joined in. This one was big and hulking but dumb as 'Uncle' Neville's toad, Trevor.

"Knock off," he mumbled, tracing a pattern in the dirt with his shoe. His heart wasn't really in it.

"No fun, are you, Albie?" the first boy asked, mockingly thoughtful. Albus just shook his head. He was the middle child- he got plenty of teasing from James.

"Come on, Andrew," the second boy whined. "Let's go find that shrimp from Seercly Road," he coaxed. The leader shot Albus one last hard look and strode off, his little pack following. As soon as they were out of sight, Albus stood and hurried home, not wanting it to be dark as he had nothing but his wand and he couldn't exactly use magic. When he entered, he was bombarded on all sides.

"Hey Albus!" Lily yelled.

His dad, Harry, came in from his office and ruffled his hair. "Hey, AJ," he told him. 'AJ' was just a little-used nickname, since he couldn't exactly be called 'AS'.

"Yo! It's little bro!" James shouted, sliding down the stair railing.

"James," Harry said. "Please don't do that." James just stuck his tongue out at the lot of them and hurried into the kitchen. Lily followed him, but Albus and Harry stayed behind.

"What's up?" Harry asked him bluntly. Albus sighed. His dad could always tell when he was in a bad mood.

"Nothing," he mumbled, trying to escape. But his dad gave him that look. "Just Andrew," he lied. It wasn't just Andrew and his goons or anyone else. In fact, it wasn't anyone at all.

They thought that he didn't notice when they stepped right past him to speak to his dad or mum or James, the Quidditch star. They thought he didn't see when they hurried past him on the road or in the neighborhood when he had a little spot of potions or soot on his sleeve. The time the mother's group led away their children because he didn't have Lily with him. No, it was simply the absence of people. Of course his family cared about him, especially his dad, but there was always something else or someone or something going on, some Quidditch event for James or Lily's horseback riding habit. At Hogwarts, everyone was all over James the Perfect Gryffindor. No, his problem was certainly not the abusive tendencies of Andrew and his gang.

It was merely the indifference of being pushed aside.


	2. Chapter 2

Quotations

A series of one shots based on famous quotes from the Harry Potter books. These are not related to each other.

All pairings canon.

"Trouble usually finds me"

"That's not what I meant, Lily," James muttered. His wife stood, one hand on her hip, staring at him from across the room. He hung his head like a dejected puppy before she giggled slightly.

"You're impossible to stay mad at, but don't remember I said that," she told him, taking three long strides across the room and settling into the couch next to James, pulling him down to sit next to her.

"Yes ma'am," James said, leaning over to kiss her cheek. She swatted him away and glared slightly with those beautiful green eyes before returning to her previous, relaxed pose.

"You aren't getting out of trouble that easy, Potter," she teased, before turning serious. "How in Merlin's name did you two think that invading the Muggle world decked out in Gryffindor Quidditch robes was a good idea? You both got arrested, for heavens' sake. They thought you were some sort of satirical terrorists or something."

"Well, yeah, but it was fun! And anyway, we weren't actually aiming to end up in that Muggle mall or whatever it's called, we were apparating when Moony tried to grab my broom so we couldn't do anything stupid and got thrown off," he explained hastily, making lights explode from the tip of his wand as he spoke. Lily sighed and dropped her head into her hands.

"Give that man an award for putting up with you two for seven years."

James grinned at the thought of Remus' attempts to stop them from doing stupid pranks. "Half the time it wasn't even our pranks though, we just got blamed for them!" Lily peered up at him through her fingers.

"We both know that's a lie."


	3. Chapter 3

Have a favorite quote? Post it in a review or message me and I'll try to write a one-shot for it.

* * *

"Understanding is the first step to acceptance, and only with acceptance can there be recovery."

* * *

Sirius swore he hadn't done anything to deserve this, at the very least. Also, the man in front of him was barmy.

"Now, Mr. Black, what are your feelings on the subject?" _That you're an idiot,_ he thought to himself, but didn't say so.

"Moony's not nearly as loopy as you," he muttered, before speaking up. "I believe I am okay," he repeated dully. The bloody crazy Muggle therapist had drilled the phrase into his head to the point where he wanted Moony to bite him so he could be a werewolf and not have to sit here.

The man smiled. "Very good, Mr. Black. Now, could you explain the objects found on your person when you were brought here? The long stick and sap-spouting brass balls most especially." Sirius chanced a glance at the guard in front of the door before answering. He'd been standing there for ten hours now as the therapist 'interrogated' him about his presence in Muggle London. Apparently trying to get Muggles to play Gobstones on a bet from James was frowned upon.

"I've told you this before, give me back my wand and I'll show you!" He planned to Obliviate the Muggles at the first opportunity. The therapist, Jason something, shook his head.

"Now, now, Mr. Black, that isn't allowed. You know my motto? 'Understanding the reasons leads to acceptance.'" Sirius personally thought it sounded distinctly like something Dumbledore would spout. "How are we going to help you recover from this trauma?"

"What trauma?"

"Most obviously there is some trauma. What happened before you decided to terrorize London?" _My parents hated me, I broke every family rule, I was disowned, Voldemort keeps trying to kill us all... I mean, really, there's quite a lot of trauma._

"I'd prefer if you used something not so politically incorrect as 'terrorized," Sirius said peevishly. He wasn't a terrorist. "And nothing happened to me."

"We're all friends, it's okay, you can admit your shortcomings," the man said soothingly. Sirius wanted to punch him then feed him to one of Hagrid's pets.

Because Sirius Black was most certainly not okay. Not okay, not when you know your best friend is in hiding from a man that would like nothing better than to kill you all. Not okay, when he still had that tiny scar on his right hip from his father when he was three stabbing him with a kitchen knife 'by accident'. Not okay, when occasionally his right hand twitched as an aftereffect of the Cruciatus Curse that he'd been administered (in just as clinical a manner) when he was ten. For eating a sweet.

"I am fine," he said clearly, for once with no hint of his usual humor. The man shook his head patronizingly.

"Let's-"

"NO! Let's not! Let's not sit here and wait to be killed!" Sirius was on his feet now, holding out his wand hand and snapping the chain attached to his ankles. "This world," he hissed, "is trying to kill me. And I will not wait here while I know that five more people have died in the interim." He held up his left hand, showing the small tattoo across the inside of his wrist. It showed tiny golden dots in rows, barely visible against his tanned skin. There were forty-nine minuscule marks. The last five glowed a vivid silvery shade. Five. Were Lily and James and Harry among them? What about Remus?

"Wait, now, let's talk about this, Mr. Black!"

" _Obliviate!_ " And then he ran, disappearing in a swirl of robes an instant after he escaped the bars.

Because the tattoo would fade, eventually. Dumbledore had made sure of that. But what wouldn't fade were the deaths. Oh, sure, they were faded, their wand-generated misty shapes no more than smoke. But never would the glitter in James' eyes dim, or the flames of Lily's hair, or the green eyes of his godson. And he would never forgive himself if he had to watch the proof of their deaths disappear from his wrist. Understanding with forced acceptance that their recovery was never possible.


	4. Chapter 4

The truth is a beautiful and terrible thing...

"All I wanted was you!"

"Good way of showing it!" she snarled. Lily yanked the edge of her robe from his grasp and stood from the stone bench.

"Lily..."

"Don't, Snape. I'm not an object to be wanted, thank you very much." His face fell as she stormed away, wanting desperately to turn back and hex him to Azkaban. Then a hand reached out and grabbed her arm. Lily spun around and nearly punched James Potter.

"What's up, Evans?" he asked curiously. For once there was no hint of a joke in his tone.

"Nothing," she muttered angrily, wriggling out of his grasp. He dropped his arm to his side, which she was grateful for. Lily didn't feel like dealing with James in his 'touchy' mode, where he took every opportunity to hug her, try to kiss her, etcetera.

James raised one eyebrow and the light caught the hazel of his eyes. "Really?"

"Lily!" another voice yelled. Smooth, silky, but harsh. It was Severus again. James instantly changed tact, walls building behind his eyes again.

"How's it going, Snape?" he asked, the tease back. She could have hugged him, however, for saying 'Snape' and not 'Snivellus'.

"Oh, it's you," Snape sneered. "Leave Lily alone."

"No, you leave me alone, Severus," Lily said firmly. He stared at her, dark eyes clouded and she shook her head again. Snape stormed off, robes billowing. The duo returned to their stare off, the walls James had built still not collapsing. "So?"

James took her hand and tugged her away from the courtyard in silence. They spiraled up two flights of stairs then entered a second floor corridor. Lily, curious, made no effort to break away. James took a deep breath and dropped her hand again, making her miss the confidence the action conveyed, just slightly. "You know why I hate Snape, right?" he asked tentatively, before backpedaling. "I mean, I did hate him on principle until last year. But I changed."

"No," she said truthfully. James' voice quickened as he hastened to explain himself.

"I- well, I... I hate how he treats you," he said, his normal boisterous manner gone. Lily met his gaze again, sensing he wasn't quite as rigid now.

"So?"

"I don't know how to get him to stop! This is what I know best, Lils, I'm sorry!"

"Don't be. Although why you care is beyond me. I thought I was 'stuck-up' and a 'know-it-all'?"

The grin returned and he ran his hand through his hair, herself barely able to resist smacking it away. "Date me, mi'lady?" Then he turned and strode away, leaving her with her mouth open in shock as she stared after him.

"James Potter!" she cried, hurrying after him. He slowed, hands in his pockets, and walked backwards. Lily sighed deeply before responding. "All right."


	5. Chapter 5

"No. He must have known you would always want to come back."

They'd been looking for nearly an hour already. There was no sign of him whatsoever. Ron settled heavily onto a bench in the Great Hall, distant from the death and pain and emotions because he had so much of his own.

"Blimey, Harry," Ron whispered quietly. "Blimey." He looked up to hear a soft choking sound and someone sit next to him, leaning on his shoulder.

"Oh, god, Ron," Hermione whispered. She swiped furiously at a tear and Ron had no idea what to do.

Hermione Granger did not cry. Or, at least, he'd always thought not here in the middle of a few hundred people like this. He took her hand and led her out of the Hall, to a broken stairway. Faint, barely noticeable stars were visible from inside the remnants of the protective net. Disappearing stars. Invisible, gone, faded. Like Harry, always the star, a trait Ron had been almost constantly incredibly jealous of until this moment. Because Ron wasn't the one walking to his death by himself in a dark forest filled with monsters, Voldemort, and Death Eaters. And he could say his name now. Now that Voldemort had almost surely killed his best friend.

"Harry, you stupid, noble idiot," Hermione hissed. "Noble and chivalrous and stupid!" She buried her head in his chest and Ron awkwardly wrapped his arms around her. He could see every mark on his arms and hers, spatters of blood or sharp, clean cuts that had stopped bleeding quickly. They hurt like he imagined the Cruciatus Curse would. For all he knew, he'd gone through it, been hit by it during the battle. But he did not regret a single mark or moment of pain. Harry might be dead, but he had fought for him. He had fought for what was right. The light, the stars and lightning bolts and sun in the shield of night and thunder and disasters.

"Why didn't he tell us?" Ron whispered, more to himself than to Hermione. She pushed away from him and wrapped her arms around herself.

"We would have stopped him. Don't look at me like that. We would have and you know it too. That stupid, noble idiot." Despite the circumstances, Ron smiled slightly.

"Sounds like something Ginny said after Harry broke up with her to go after Horcruxes." Hermione also smiled faintly.

"Well, that's where I got it from. She was rather upset over the whole thing. I believe her complaints offered multiple versions of 'Bloody effing hell, Harry, for Merlin's sake!'" Hermione admitted. Ron nodded; that sounded exactly like Ginny. "Bloody effing hell," she repeated quietly.

"He couldn't even have had the common decency to say goodbye," Ron muttered, not miffed but merely incredibly, completely defeated. Another tear graced Hermione's cheek and she swiped it away furiously.

"We know he'll have always wanted to come back," she said, voice filling the cool night air. "Always."


	6. Chapter 6

If I repeat a quote, it has been requested. Please send in your favorite Harry Potter quotes for me to write.

"It is our choices that show who we truly are, far more than our abilities."

"So, Loony? What happened?" Augustine Chambers asked. Luna looked up from her textbook at the circle of students around her.

"Yes, Luna, what happened?" Cho Chang queried, settling into a chair next to her.

Luna smiled softly, deciding to play dumb as usual. "What happened?"

Moran Bradley groaned. "With Potter!" Luna winced slightly at the mention of their adventure in the back halls of the Ministry. Harry's desperate search for Sirius. Their brave defiance of the Death Eaters in when they had the prophecy. Ron's injury and the horrible brains and the rather terrifying experience on the Thestrals, no matter what she had said about it. But the worst of it all, watching Sirius fall through that veil and Harry's expression and the pain when Bellatrix Lestrange hit her a glancing blow with some sort of obscure hex. The shards of glass she had found in her legs and back from the falling prophecies, memories now embedded in her flesh. She, of course, hadn't seen the actual memories, but could practically hear the stories from each little bit as she magicked them into a rubbish bin after she carefully plucked each out.

"Loony!" someone yelled, snapping her back to reality. "Well?"

Luna made a split second decision, bringing her trademark smile to her face, giving herself the unfocused look of a nutter. "Oh, really, it was quite wonderful. I found an extraordinarily rare Crumple-Horned Snorkack skeleton down there! I was quite disappointed I couldn't being it back. It would make a wonderful decoration for the common room, don't you think?" She looked eagerly around at the students as they groaned theatrically and turned away, mumbling about her insanity and nutty ideas and who actually thought a Crumple-Horned Snorkack was even remotely real? But Luna didn't care. Instead, she smiled, finished up a notice for lost article of clothing and posted it on the board before heading to her dormitory. She didn't care that everyone thought she was positively loony. No, she cared that Harry's secret was safe. None of these rumor mongrels deserved to know it and spread it. To them it was just fodder for gossip. But she had been there. It was definitely not gossip. It was real and terrible and the truth and nothing could change that. She wasn't going to try. Luna Lovegood had made her choice once, to fight for honor and chivalry and everything the Gryffindors stood for, despite her placement in Ravenclaw. Because she might be brilliant, but her Housemates used their brilliance for the wrong things half the time, for hurting and harming, intentionally or not. She chose the honorable side of intelligence.


	7. Chapter 7

"Nothing like a nighttime stroll to give you ideas."

"Hey, Mum, Dad," Harry whispered. He stood in front of the marble headstone, the pale glow of his wand illuminating nothing beyond the edges of the grave. But the darkness felt not nearly so oppressive with the weight of Horcruxes lifted from his shoulders. It had been two months since the battle had been won, almost exactly. It was July third, a day before some American celebration Hermione had mentioned earlier in the week. "So, I was thinking, you know Ginny Weasley, and, well, I had to break up with her before the war..." He trailed off, unsure. Harry, of course, knew his parents wouldn't return their side of the conversation. It was simply nice to be here. To tell them about his life.

"But I really do like her quite a lot and I've no idea how to tell her. Oh, Dad, how'd you got Mum to date you would be wonderful advice right now." He sat down heavily by the headstone, pushing away the awful memories from the Tournament's graveyard. One finger traced his parents' names in the stone, each curve and line. He'd never get much closer to them, beyond digging himself a grave right alongside. "Oh, god, I just miss you and I've hardly met you." But then he suddenly knew what to do about Ginny. Well, he supposed, nothing like speaking to dead parents in the deep of night for ideas. Harry stood and dusted off his pants, muttering a quick 'Nox!' to turn out the light of his wand. The grass rustled as he hurried away, opening the gates and taking one last glance at the graves in the distance. He had placed a white lily on the grave.


	8. Chapter 8

"Numbing the pain for a while will make it worse when you finally feel it."

No. No, no, no. This wasn't- couldn't be- absolutely was not true.

"James and Lily Potter are dead!" read the headline, sitting in front of him. The exclamation point was entirely unnecessary and made him want to rip off that awful woman's head and stuff it down Moaning Myrtle's toilet. Of course, he had know of the news far ahead of the Daily Prophet. Sirius had told him, the traitor. Remus cursed him silently as he plucked the paper off the table and clipped the small date from the corner.

October 31st, 1981.

Remus picked up a small bottle from a sideboard. He hardly ever drank and only in celebration, but this- he couldn't do this. Peter and James were dead and Sirius was a traitor. Blood always told, he supposed, before rapidly shaking the thought away. No. That wasn't fair. He brought the amber liquid to his lips and almost sipped. Almost.

But that wasn't fair, he thought sagely. It wasn't fair for them to be dead, of course, but to dishonor their memory by drinking it away would not help. The pain was like a constant burning thorn in his side, one that he knew would multiply if he forgot it now.

Pain demanded to be felt, and he was determined to do so for the memory of his friends.

Remus set the bottle back down and tossed the paper into the fire. Then he tucked his wand into his robes and strode out of the house, the door clicking behind him as he Apparated away with a crack. He had no idea where he was going or why.

Pain would not be numbed by forgetting, only by remembrance.


	9. Chapter 9

"We could have been killed, or worse, expelled!"

Hermione Granger was rather shocked that Dolores Umbridge (there was no way she was using an honorific in front of that evil woman's name) hadn't been thrown immediately in Azkaban. In fact, the toad was on 'limited house arrest' because poor Kingsley couldn't bypass enough rules fast enough to get her thrown in Azkaban. Unfortunately, Hermione thought ruefully, she had convinced them to remove the dementors from the prison, but at least Umbridge would be as far from society as possible. With that happy thought, she stood and gathered her small number of paper bags from her shopping in Diagon Alley and headed back towards the entrance, avoiding the huge crowds by Weasley's Wizard Wheezes by taking a back alleyway.

Hermione heard a cackle and spun towards the noise.

"Well, well, well, who do we have here?" A figure stepped from the shadows, the familiar putrid pink bow perched atop the prim curls.

"All I see is rubbish," Hermione snapped back. Just her luck to run into the Queen of Toads herself.

Umbridge tsk-tsked and did her little throat clearing.

"Well, obviously someone's manner has not improved," she simpered. "Quite a shame, really. Maybe this calls for an attitude adjustment?"

"You seem to forget, it's no longer you with friends in high places, you evil toad." Umbridge fixed her with a pointed glare while she fingered a tassel on her lurid fuchsia handbag.

"Well, Miss Granger, I still have enough friends to have you expelled from your precious Hogwarts." Umbridge shot her with an evil grin. As much as Hermione wanted to stop herself, she could feel her face flush slightly and her heart drop to her toes. "I seem to remember school was ever so important to you?" Hermione couldn't respond for a moment, she was so furious, but soon she had her comeback.

"You do realize, Umbridge, that times have changed? In fact, I'm sure you'll be delighted to know that I learned quite a lot in my time away from school. For instance, you were quite practically a Death Eater and you contributed to Voldemort's immortality. Not that we didn't overcome your pathetic obstacles, but still." That was untrue, the part about the Horcruxes being pathetic obstacles, but Hermione didn't want to give this woman any satisfaction. "But I'd like you to know, whatever you can do now won't hurt me. Have me expelled. Go ahead, try. It'd be a lot better than what I did during the war, nearly dying more times than I could count, you evil cow. Did you know Harry did die? He died to save the lot of us, unfortunately including you! And he was too good and lure and noble to stay dead, unlike what I believe would happen to you if I just happened to find Harry, who is an Auror, and inform him of your continued existence. Obviously an Auror would never kill anyone, but I'm sure we can make things quite difficult." Hermione matched the evil woman's nasty simper as she continued. "And oh, by the way, if we were still in the war and I was at Hogwarts, I'd rather die than be expelled. A fat lot better than learning anything from people that have the intelligence of a drunken Blast-Ended Skrewt and a fear of centaurs," she spat. Umbridge turned a vivid shade of pink to match her bag and scurried away. She let a grin of satisfaction settle on her face for a moment before conjuring her Patronus. The silvery otter stood in front of her.

"Message for Kinglsey Shacklebolt," she instructed. "Tell him 'Dolores Unbridge has taken to threatening people in dark alleyways. When you find her, please tell her that Hermione Granger has both higher morals and higher friends than her and that she is a bitch.'"


	10. Chapter 10

For The 379th Hero. It is not as long as I believe you wanted, but I hope you enjoy it nonetheless.

* * *

"I am not worried… I am with you."

* * *

"Ah, Mr. Pettigrew. I hear you have information for me?" The man standing before him trembled, mousy-looking hands shaking and that awful face twitching. His own, of course, remained impassive.

"Y-yes, my lord," Pettigrew stuttered. His hands were flickering over his robes, as if he could not stop moving. Constant movement- not a trait admired in his followers, for how could one spy when one was so twitchy they practically created one's own earthquake? But he could overlook that for the vaunted information this man possessed. Once he received the knowledge, Pettigrew would receive the Dark Mark.

Or die. He had not decided yet.

"Well? On with it! _Crucio!_ " He was getting rather impatient, but watched, void of emotion, as Pettigrew twitched and squeaked in the throes of the curse.

"M-my l-lord, I'm sorry-"

"Information, you imbecile!" he hissed, temper boiling over. But he could not kill him quite yet.

"The P-Potters, I received the location that they put the Fidelius charm on." He stopped short, as if determining whether to reveal the location. Of course, he could merely be tortured to reveal it, but the man might be useful and a broken-minded follower would reveal him all too easily to the Ministry. He raised his wand as a threat- to say _'I have no qualms about torturing you.'_

Pettigrew nodded, as if to himself. To assure himself that it was the right thing to do. "They are in Godric's Hollow, my lord, in the fifth house on the right of the main road. Th-the-" And he paused again. He flicked his wand and watched disinterestedly as the bolt of white-hot pain ran through the man, who gurgled like a child and began haltingly again. "Th-the c-code, t-the code is, h-here, in m-my pocket, my lord." He nodded, giving his permission for Pettigrew to retrieve the bit of parchment with the necessary words. Pettigrew carefully handed him the slip of parchment, hand trembling. He unfurled it with a silent spell and made it hover in front of him, instead of having to touch what had assuredly contacted the hands of a Mudblood at some point.

 _'To whom it may concern,_

 _The address to the safe house of James and Lily Potter is 17 Godric Lane'_

He tapped the parchment and it burst into flames and crumbled to ash. Those fools, to trust the one of their friends that lusted for power above all else. The flames obviously shocked Pettigrew, as he leapt back, shaking and mumbling.

He changed his tone from his earlier furor to a silklike sound, smooth as glass and as deadly as the broken edge. "Thank you. You have proven yourself useful. Hold out your arm." Peter Pettigrew did not move, merely backed into the corner and trembled like a weak little Mudblood. "Hold out your arm," he repeated. He hated repeating himself. " _Crucio!"_ The scream came, high and pitchy but satisfying, to one who lusts for the blood and pain and death of others. Pettigrew had curled into a ball at his feet. When he recovered, he crawled forwards and kissed the hem of his robes. As if to rid himself of a parasite, he stepped back, thin fingers wrapping more tightly around his wand as he cast a spell to knock the ratlike man aside.

"M-my l-lord, I apologize!" Pettigrew cried desperately.

"Stand," he ordered, voice returning to silk. The man stood, pushing himself from the floor and stumbling as if a drunkard. He held out his left arm, the pale skin quivering and the blue veins visible to the naked eye all up and down his arm.

 _"Signabimus Morsemorde!"_ The black ink of the mark etched itself into the skin and Pettigrew was tearing up as the rivulets of blood ran down his wrist. But the spell did its work quickly and the blood ceased its journey as the snake and skull stared back at him.

"T-thank y-you, M-master! I-it is a great honor!" Pettigrew cried, staring with some unexpressed emotion at the mark.

"Good. Let us get to business, your next assignment. Go with Bellatrix and Braemar to Axton in Yorkshire. You are to eradicate the Muggles, once and for all. If you fail, I believe you know the consequences." Pettigrew nodded pitifully, rubbing the mark on his arm.

"Yes, my lord. I will do my best."

"No, Pettigrew. You will succeed, or you will not. Not succeeding is not an option for you," he said, voice smooth, convincing. "Are you concerned about this?" He asked that question of all his Death Eaters before their missions for him. They had to answer properly, else they risked the consequences. It was this that caused Peter Pettigrew to tell his first lie of the conversation. Of course he could tell; after all, he was a Legilimens.

"I am not worried, my lord. I am with you."


	11. Chapter 11

"Eat, you'll feel better."

"Look at this!" George shouted above the din. "Just eat the other end to cure your sudden bout of upchucking!" To demonstrate, he tossed the proper half of the Puking Pastille to his 'test subject,' Lee, who promptly ate it and ceased spewing into a bucket. George bowed to the applause and stepped off the small stage into the back room of Weasley's Wizard Wheezes. He carefully replaced the hat and cape he'd been wearing on a special shelf with a gravity unlike his typical manner and settled heavily into a spare chair, tapping his foot on the floor. It was a gesture of impatience, but he was impatient for something that would never happen.

He carried himself all too heavily now. It tended not to resonate well with people anymore. Sometimes he was no longer the life of the party, but he never was all on his own. He always had his twin. George knew his new manner didn't exactly suit him, but that was the him that the public saw, he reflected. The real person was now one missing his best friend, his ally, the one that knew the words before he said them. And maybe it sounded sappy for such a prankster ("I swear, those Marauders have been reincarnated" was a phrase oft heard around the Weasley twins), but he missed Fred dearly.

Fred had been the one to invent the Puking Pastille. He'd discovered their little catchphrase ("Eat, you'll feel better," a quote stolen from Remus Lupin) and put the finishing touches on it before it went to market. He'd been inordinately proud of the little pill, as was George with his own charm for Nosebleed Nougat. Those were the only two projects they'd been rather separate for. Now they both sat on a special little shelf in a dark storeroom of a shop filled with light. The original drawings and prototypes for the candies were on the shelf, as were the first ones ever to be produced. The two of them had been rather sentimental.

Maybe that was why George was having such a hard time letting go. He reached over to the shelf and pulled the little wooden box housing the prototypes and pulled off the lid. The inside was ornate- they'd snitched it from Grimmauld Place once they were reasonably sure it held no Dark magic. The two brightly colored candies were in great contrast to the velvet lining, solemn and somber, not unlike George himself. A slip of parchment sat underneath the candy, with the harried penmanship of his brother inscribed on it in their patented Joker Ink. The message would change for anyone who read that was not the intended recipient. But he could read it perfectly.

"George,

If you find this, then something's happened to me. I know you've done the same for me, in case this war ruins the amazing duo of Gred and Forge. Anyway, if you ever read this, Volde-pocalypse must have happened because never in my wildest dreams would I possibly imagine our separation. Please keep running the shop.

Love,

Fred"

George swiped at one eye and heard the lock to the storeroom door click once. He hurriedly shoved away the papers and picked up a fake wand to 'examine' it. Lee entered and spotted him, then quickly made his way over.

"Something wrong?" he asked.

"I'm just impossibly upset that this fake wand won't work," George lied, dropping it on the counter with a grin and stretching as he stood. Lee shrugged.

"Alright, your loyal fans want another performance then," he announced. George clapped his hands together and gathered up some Canary Creams, then left the storeroom. Maybe if he are something to turn into a bird, to be a prankster again, he'd feel better.


	12. Chapter 12

"Well- it's just that you seem to be laboring under the delusion that I am going to- what is the phrase- 'Come quietly'. I am afraid I am not going to come quietly at all…"

"Shhh!" someone hissed. Neville spun and glared at the small group behind him.

"All of you 'shh' unless you have a deep desire to be strung up in the dungeons like Amber Ligsby!" he whispered as fiercely as he could. They all silenced at the mention of Amber, who had been tortured by the Carrows for complaining about the lack of food. Now she was permanently disfigured and only eleven. A first year. Of course, the Slytherins had plenty of food, but the other three, and Gryffindor especially, were on rations. Neville had hated that- a bit of bread, a scoop of pudding, and some chicken was all they'd get. Fortunately the house-elves still made decent food. But that was neither here nor there in the current situation, he realized, so he snapped back to the present.

"Two more floors down, right?" Ginny whispered. She'd escaped notice so far but they had heard through the grapevine that they were taking her away around Christmas. Neville nodded in response and hurried to the next stairwell, making it to the fourth floor in record time. They were getting better and better at their reconnaissance. Finally they reached the correct spot, near the Muggle Studies classroom. He'd been anxious to do this one since they started and his group had finally worked up enough nerve to try.

Luna started painting and Seamus Finnigan helped her while the other two cast several curses on the door. Ginny set up a Bat-Bogey hex in trap form, to attack the first person to enter the room. Then all four put the finishing touches on their painted-on message.

"Dumbledore's Army, Still Recruiting. Contact Our Headquarters to Join." Their headquarters, of course, was the Room of Requirement. Only certain people knew about it and gradually they were telling trustworthy friends, spreading the word. People trickled in every day, but not any that Neville trusted with missions like these. For this, he'd only been assisted by the three currently with him. Seamus had been reluctant at first but he'd finally gotten himself together.

"Good," Neville whispered. "Let's go." And so they hurried back to the seventh floor and stepped quietly into the Room of Requirement. As soon as the door shut, the room was lit up with torches and magic and a round of applause echoed against the stone walls, almost making the banners for each house shiver. Neville nodded his thanks to the fifty or so assembled but headed to his hammock, dead tired. He'd tell them all about it tomorrow and he knew his friends would follow his lead.

When they emerged from the darkness the next day, crowding into little sitting areas clustered around the artificial windows, Neville assigned a few people to retrieve food from the Hog's Head then left with Luna and Ginny to check out the results of their little message. Seamus was still sleeping and Neville had no desire to wake up the grumpy Irishman. They reached the fourth floor quickly enough and hid behind a tapestry he'd discovered. Soon enough they heard Amycus tromping up to the room in his hobnail boots, grumping about something to his sister.

"That little twerp just sat there! Wouldn't even try to cast the curse! Traitorous little Mudbloods," he wailed. Neville snickered behind his hand at the stupidly high pitch of Amycus' voice.

"There ain't no Mudbloods here," Alecto pointed out. She had slightly more brains than her brother, which is to say, none.

"Yes there are, didn't you hear from Bellatrix?" Amycus said, his tone as if he were hiding a secret. "Dark Lord's sayin' that anyone not pureblood ain't no good. So, Mudblood." His sister harrumphed and continued her ugly stomping towards the classroom. Neville held his breath, crossing his fingers that their plan worked

"Aack!" one of the Death Eaters screeched. He grinned and so did his companions. "Those bloody traitors. I'm gonna kill that little Longbottom." Then whoever had spoken hit the wall with their fist. Neville gasped as the fist connected with his gut through the tapestry. "Aha! What have we got here?" Amycus snarled. So it had been Amycus, Neville thought. That undergrown troll. Then the tapestry was ripped aside to reveal the three of them crouched behind it.

"Ooh, we've found you now, Longbottom!" Alecto crowed. "Let's go!" But she didn't expect them to fight back. Ginny sent a Bat-Bogey hex at her and sprinted down the corridor so they would have the tactical advantage. If they were caught, they were supposed to save themselves, but Neville knew they wouldn't and he was immensely proud of his friends. He sent a curse of his own at the Death Eaters, hitting Amycus with a stunner that practically bounced off his thick skull, only dropping him to the floor temporarily. He muttered a few choice words under his breath but went after Amycus, fists flying, and kicked him in the gut.

"Rectumsempra!" Luna cried, her high-pitched voice echoing down the corridor. Alecto fell to the floor, the Tickling Jinx taking her mind off the battle temporarily. Neville smiled and started away down the hall, Luna and Ginny following, but they weren't fast enough. Amycus had recovered and sent a Tripping Jinx at all of them. Neville fell to the stone floor as he clutched his knee, which had cracked rather unpleasantly upon landing.

"I got you!" Amycus yelled down the hall. "I got the little traitors!"

"Yippee for you!" Ginny called back, sarcastic as always. "I'm incredibly impressed that you could even manage walking with that thick skull of yours."

"Shut your mouth, brat," Alecto shouted nastily, standing over the three of them on the floor. Neville winced at the sudden appearance of the ugly woman's face in his view. Actually, he saw three Alectos, which was even worse, because Amycus had been so kind as to kick him in the head.

"Let's go," Amycus muttered, yanking Neville upright by his hair. Alecto pulled the girls upright and frog-marched them towards the dungeons. Neville was desperately trying to come up with a plan and they'd almost reached the entrance to the dungeons when he realized it. He just hoped their captors weren't smart enough to realize his motive, because he had no intention of coming along like a meek sheep.

"Why don't you go take us through breakfast in the hall? Show that, you know, you're stronger than us?" he offered, crossing his fingers. Amycus sneered nastily at him.

"You ain't gonna fool us, kiddie." Ginny opened her mouth to insult him but Neville kicked her ankle and she nodded, dropping as if defeated into Alecto's grip. Luna copied her.

"What exactly are we going to do against all of you?" Neville pointed out. Quite a lot, would be the proper answer, but Amycus didn't know that.

"Ain't a bad idea," he muttered, as if to himself. "Let's go, Alecto." The siblings roughly yanked them across the entrance hall and into the Great Hall, which seemed dull and empty even though it was filled with students. Snape stared Neville down from across the huge room and he gulped slightly but met the eyes of his tormentor. He was not going out without a fight. They marched in between the Gryffindor and Ravenclaw tables, the students sitting at each staring openly at them. Colin Creevey waved half-heartedly at Neville as he passed.

"What do we have here?" Snape sneered as they reached the Head Table. Professor McGonagall and several others looked shocked.

"They were tryin' to prank us," Amycus complained gruffly, standing as straight as Neville's limp weight would allow.

"Were they now? We cannot have that. Take them to the dungeons."

"Severus!" Professor McGonagall cried. Neville's heart warmed at her defense of them and he sent her a grateful glance. "You can't do this!"

"I can and I will. I am the Headmaster, am I not? Don't think I'll give your Ravenclaw special treatment either, Filius." That was when Neville ripped his wrist out of Amycus' limp grip and knocked the Death Eater over, then pushed Snape down the small flight of stairs leading up to the Head Table. He pointed his own wand at his throat and muttered " _Sonorus!_ "

"Hey! Everyone! I'm sure you know who I am and what I've done. But if you're willing to sit around and watch scum like these idiots take over, stay here. If not, then find someone who knows. Because Dumbledore's Army? We're still recruiting!" Gryffindor cheered loudly, standing on their table and clapping, followed by Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw, and even a couple Slytherins.

"You'll get it worse for that, brat," Amycus mumbled, grabbing Neville's arm again and marching him out of the hall. But he honestly didn't care. The bruises and cuts from the curses aimed at him as 'punishment' were just proof of his victory. Because once he got back to the Room of Requirement, he found their numbers had swelled by almost twenty and more and more came in every day until the Gryffindor table was practically empty and the Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs only had a few remaining. He might have been once considered the clumsiest and most-unlikely-to-do-anything-remarkable, but he wasn't going to just go along with this quietly. He would fight, and apparently not alone.


	13. Chapter 13

**"** **Hearing voices no one else can hear isn't a good sign, even in the wizarding world."**

 **Written for Drabble Club in the Hogwarts House Challenges forum.**

 **Prompt:** **"Were they caught in the gravitational pull of your arrogance?"**

What few people knew about Azkaban, Sirius mused, was that there were actually slightly sane wizards there. They came to check up on the prisoners, assess their mental states. Determine if they required an extra Dementor by the door. Or, sometimes, they led visitors through the prison. To taunt, or torture.

Or kill.

Sirius absently traced the lines on the floor. He'd created each one of them- there were three hundred and fifty two- and many of the more recent ones were laced with dried blood. He'd barely been there a year, technically not even one, and yet he felt he was already missing things, that he'd forgotten a day here or there. It was hard to tell, in the deep black of the prison, the only light what little reflected off the sea that churned at the doorways. More than one 'morning' he had awoken to water splashing through his cell and his ratty blanket damp, both with water and the blood it washed off his wounds. He was on the second story, so it wasn't much of a stretch for waves to reach him.

But today, thankfully, dampness was not his concern. Unfortunately, his concern was how much they decided to torture him. Despite Voldemort's disappearance, they thought he would know something of his Death Eaters' whereabouts. Obviously he did not, as he was innocent. ("You bloody fools," he'd said more than once. "Is there a Dark Mark on me?") There wasn't, for the record. Apparently as Voldemort's protégée he must be magically hiding it somehow.

Sirius thought it was ridiculous. In fact, last time the Minister had passed by to do his little 'tsk-tsk' routine, he'd purposefully attempted to look as if he had the mental acuity of an infant. Of course, his eyes had given him away, but Fudge hadn't been observant enough to notice. The chubby little man had just nodded and smirked as he passed. What shook him from his reverie, however, was not the sudden appearance of two Dementors by his door. It was the fact that they were accompanied by a smug Fudge and a twitching assistant, staring fearfully at the Dementors. Sirius resisted the urge to laugh.

He wasn't scared of those anymore.

His more immediate problem was the Minister.

"And how is Black doing?" the loathsome man asked, voice dripping with sarcasm. Sirius decided not to sit there and take it.

"Black would be doing wonderfully, thank you very much, if not for the immense headache your arrogance has caused me. That much gravity can't be good for my head." Fudge started at his reply, then glared at him. If not for the lime bowler, it might have scared a woodrat.

"Y-you d-do not have p-permission t-to address the Minister!" Fudge's assistant stuttered, his thin frame moving slightly to 'protect' his boss. Sirius rolled his eyes.

"Wonderful. Care to relay a message for me?" Without a response, he continued. "Tell Minister Fudge that I am doing just fabulously, if not for the fact his little friends are causing me rather incurable depression." Sirius smiled brightly to throw the man off guard. "In fact, I respectfully request that the Minister, if he should so want information, put aside his overbearing arrogance and go speak to Albus Dumbledore. It'd also be just amazing if he could give up his ancient stereotypes of the family to which I have been forcefully disowned and judge me on my own merit. Have a nice day!" With that, he waved with a self-satisfied smirk and turned back to his bare leg, where he had been carefully inscribing a Gryffindor tattoo. By hand. With ink made from a dead squid washed into his cell.

To say the least, he was rather bored.

Confinement did not suit him, and it certainly did not suit his Animagus form. Occasionally he'd feel as if he was doing something because his dog side wanted to, not himself. He'd always been in tune with his Animagus before- he had no disconnect like this- but the Dementors were doing something to him. Beyond the obvious insanity. Sirius felt like he had a voice speaking for him, encouraging him to stand up for what was right and not bow down. Of course he was grateful that something was keeping him as some resemblance of himself, but still. Hearing voices was not a good thing. Even for wizards. _Especially_ for wizards.


End file.
